


Electric

by evanelric



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Future Fic, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, self-lubing asshole, were!stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-22
Updated: 2012-10-22
Packaged: 2017-11-16 19:45:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/543165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evanelric/pseuds/evanelric
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris comes home to find that Stiles is in heat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Electric

**Author's Note:**

> so apparently I ship stiles/age gap. I don't really have a problem with this.

It’s not unusual for Chris to come home and find himself with his arms suddenly full of Stiles, even barely clothed or naked Stiles, but generally he’ll get an impish grin and a hello somewhere along the line. Now, though, Stiles is rabid, hands moving everywhere, trying to get inside and under Chris’s clothes, but with a frantic energy like Stiles can’t be bothered to try and actually remove any of them, not even to push the jacket from Chris’s shoulders. The almost whine Stiles lets out when he’s met with the insurmountable obstacle of the fly of Chris’s jeans is definitely the icing on the cake, though, and Chris grabs Stiles by the shoulders and holds him at arm’s length.

Stiles lets out another sad whine and starts writhing to escape Chris’s grip and presumably plaster himself against Chris again. Chris has a terrible suspicion about what's happening, the electric charge to the air that's almost a taste on the back of his tongue, the way Stiles' eyes are at once glazed over and barely half-aware but seem to see everything with a terrible clarity. Chris grew up in the lore, read everything cover to cover in every translation and then made his own because even the originals were full of errors and speculation.

He doesn’t ask Stiles if he’s sure about this, because even though Chris was raised an Argent Stiles took to being a werewolf like a fish to water, filling in what he couldn’t pick up on instinct with a ridiculous amount of research. Between the two of them they could probably recreate everything the Argent family has accumulated over the centuries from memory if needed.

Even if he didn't have that knowledge, this is familiar enough, the slide of hands and lips on skin, the whisper of the sheets moving with their bodies, the sounds that aren't quite enough to be words but speak volumes more, to know that this _isn't_ like the other times, that there's something more happening.

Chris also knows Stiles, knows _them_ , well enough to know that it doesn't matter, that if this is going to happen it will. If he believed in any god he'd pray he was wrong, but he can't, so he lets himself fall into it, into soft skin that marks so easily and heals just as quickly, into whimpers and growls and moans that sound like they might be his name or a prayer or just the way the air flows around Stiles' hand where he's pressed it to his own lips.

Chris’s hands make short work of his clothing, Stiles attempting to help when he has newly revealed skin to pursue, hands tracing down Chris’s chest as he undoes the buttons, and over Chris’s shoulders and down his arms as he slips his shirt off. Stiles is more hindrance than help when Chris gets to his jeans, not wanting to grant Chris the few inches necessary to shimmy his jeans far enough down so he can step on the hem and pull them off after toeing off his boots.

Stiles is willing enough to move, so long as Chris moves with him, and it’s comparatively easy to make it to the bedroom. Stiles’ frantic movements have calmed considerably now that Chris is reciprocating his touches, but their kisses are brief as Stiles keeps stopping to give Chris smaller kisses and licks all over his face and neck, rubbing his considerably smoother skin against Chris’s. While he misses the kisses, this does give Chris the opportunity to get them onto the bed nicely instead of just stumbling onto it in a tangle of limbs like usual. He gets Stiles roughly toward the middle before rolling him onto his belly, and Stiles immediately pulls his knees up, creating a smooth incline from his ass down to where his shoulders rest on the comforter. There’s a flush on his cheeks that’s spread down his torso, tingeing his skin pink in splotchy patches all the way down his torso.

The air in the room is at once stifling and charged with potential, cold against Chris’s skin in contrast to the heat coming off Stiles in waves, nearly burning Chris’s fingertips as he skims them down from the small of Stiles’ back. The cold would normally have Stiles flinching and cursing, but now he just lets out a broken sound partially muffled by the curl of his knuckles against his mouth. Chris strokes Stiles’ hip absently with his other hand, holding Stiles steady as Chris moves one finger in small circles until there is enough give to press it inside.

If there was any doubt left in Chris’s mind about what’s happening it’s gone now, because Stiles is already wet and a little bit loose, but not enough for Stiles to have prepped himself. Stiles is clenching at the sheets, making small noises of want, trying to rock back onto Chris’s finger, but Chris won’t be rushed, especially under these circumstances. He withdraws slightly before pressing in again, working Stiles open slowly.

Chris is sliding three fingers in and out in a smooth glide before Stiles gathers enough presence of mind to reach back, fingers scrabbling through the sweat slicking his own ribs before he finds Chris’s hand on his hip. His eyes glow golden from under heavy lids, lips wet and swollen from Stiles’ own teeth and tongue. His labored breathing fills the room, which makes the broken _please_ he exhales all the more pronounced. Chris twists his hand to link his fingers with Stiles’ for a moment. He crooks his fingers inside Stiles as he withdraws them, giving his own cock a quick stroke from tip to base, slicking it as he holds himself steady to press into Stiles.

He slides in in one slow, smooth stroke, pausing when he’s fully seated, bending forward and pressing kisses into Stiles’ spine as he goes until Chris is pressed along the length of Stiles’ back. Stiles hand clenches in Chris’ where it’s still held against his hipbone, and Stiles shifts restlessly, trying to get Chris to move. Chris wraps his arm around Stiles, holding him close for a moment despite his squirming. Stiles is too far gone at this point to have any patience with the care Chris would like to pay him, so Chris holds Stiles tightly and presses a final kiss to the nape of Stiles’ neck before he raises his torso and grips Stiles tightly by the hips, withdrawing and plunging back in so Stiles barely has time to start moaning plaintively before it’s cut off by a sharp gasp.

Chris keeps the pace up after that, quick thrusts aimed at just the right angle, fingers digging bruises into Stiles’ hips, pulling him back to meet each of Chris’s thrusts. Stiles is clutching desperately at the sheets with one hand and sucking on the fingers of the other, complementing the skin on skin sounds of Chris’s thrusts with greedy, wet noises. Chris feels the heat start to pool in his abdomen, but knows that he has to hold out for Stiles’ sake, or at least bring Stiles off first, so he pulls Stiles up so they’re chest to back, holding him there with a hand splayed across his collarbones, working Stiles’ cock with the other. Stiles lets out a desperate cry, wordless pleading sounds as Chris mouths along Stiles’ neck, pulling his fingers from his mouth to wind them back through Chris’ hair, hips trying to move backwards onto Chris’s cock and forward into his fist.

Chris licks a line from shoulder to jaw before sinking his teeth into the spot where Stiles’ neck meets his shoulder. That’s all it takes for Stiles to clench around his cock, coming all over the bed and Chris’s hand where he’s still jacking Stiles. Stiles’ fingernails dig into Chris’s scalp, the other hand clutching at Chris’s hand where it rests on his chest as Chris keeps thrusting, licking absently at the flesh caught between his teeth. A few more thrusts are all it takes to bring Chris off, and it’s this that wrings a scream from Stiles where his own orgasm had only prompted more desperate noises.

Stiles clings desperately to Chris as they come down, resting his head back on Chris’s shoulder, nuzzling the best he can into the side of Chris’s head as he goes languid, letting Chris’s arms take his weight. Chris ends the bite, licking over the imprints of teeth left in Stiles’ neck even though he knows they’ll heal in moments, and carefully maneuvers them so they’re lying on their sides on the bed, doing his best to keep his softening cock inside of Stiles as long as possible. He’ll slip out while they sleep if nothing else, but Stiles’ heat will hopefully react better this way. Stiles is already asleep, sweat cooling on his skin, clutching Chris’s arms around him. Chris slips a leg between Stiles’, determined to try and get some sleep as well. If he’s lucky he’ll be able to get at least a few hours in before Stiles needs him again.


End file.
